


A Missed Birthday (But We'll Always Have Cake)

by tinknevertalks



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e10 Beneath the Surface, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Sam Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: Sam's thoughts after arriving home from P3R-118, and cake.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 29
Kudos: 68





	A Missed Birthday (But We'll Always Have Cake)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsg1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsg1/gifts).



> I had the mad idea on the tenth to write a birthday gift... Except SamSG1 is however many hours ahead of me and it was already the eleventh for her. XD
> 
> Penblwydd hapus hwyr! Sorry you didn't get to do all the things you had planned. Hope you enjoy this. :)
> 
> (And thank you xbleeple for all the reassurance! XD)

Everything was just as she'd left it, with an added layer of dust. Sam supposed she should be glad, being back, but she felt hollow down to her very bones. The last week consisted of returning memories, cool air, and nobody in her personal space. She hated it. And now, in the safety of her house, all she wanted was warmth.

And distractions.

Not having the sticky heat of the mine made her keenly aware of the season; mid-January, snow on the ground, and spring nowhere near. And it was so quiet. No machinery clanking, no sussurant whispers, no anything. Without thought, she grabbed the remote. TV on, she could breathe a bit easier, the iron band of silence's pressure loosened from around her ribs.

But now, as the commentator waxed lyrical about the Colorado Avalanche, her thoughts were drawn back to him. Jonah (the Colonel?). She couldn't quantify the differences, but could feel them keenly. Standing next to him in the SGC as his second hurt deeply; days before she'd simply been his, and he her's. As she busied her hands wiping down her kitchen, her mind wandered, the ache inside increasing. Each swipe across her countertops was fueled by denial and frustration.

She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of remembering his skin beneath her fingertips, his lips against hers, how right they felt together. There were rules, boundaries. In her head, their cursed room bulged with the forbidden knowledge of his body, and all she could do was ignore the door.

Kitchen sparkling, though fridge empty, Sam grabbed the phone. Chinese take out. Simple. Easy. Allowed.

Twenty minutes later, food delivered, she sat alone. The tv still blared, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes itched. She wouldn’t cry.

_Knock, knock._

Debating whether to ignore the door for her kung-pao chicken, the visitor knocked again, harder this time. Sighing, she dragged herself to the door, somehow knowing he’d be on the other side. Did she want him there; a witness to her emotional breakdown?

“I know you’re in there, Carter.” Spoken, not yelled. He must have seen her silhouette move by the window. “We need to talk.”

Opening the door, she looked up, into his eyes. Days ago they were bright, and knowing. Now they were deep pools and she knew she could drown. The curiosity, however, was the box in his hands. “Sir?”

He winced, before indicating for her to take the box. “We missed your birthday.”

“... What?”

“We missed your birthday,” he repeated, as if it made sense. Maybe in his head it did. It just left Sam confused. “Remember the planet Thor left us on, after the pain in the ass Replicators?” She nodded, and he continued. “I said if we made it back within a month of being dumped there…”

“You’d buy my birthday cake,” she finished quietly, the memory floating to the surface. Nodding, she took the box, moving out of his way. She almost didn’t want to open it, wanting to unwrap something else entirely, but he remembered his bet.

“Before you open it,” he said, closing the door behind him, “I need to… Too late,” he murmured, as Sam opened the box. Inside was a cake, big enough for two people. In tiny, royal blue icing were the words, _Happy birthday, Thera_. “They asked for a name.”

“That is a name,” she agreed, each word dull. A tear rolled down her cheek. He brushed it away. Before she had a chance to gasp at his touch - the first for a week after going cold turkey - her body molded itself to him, her lips seeking solace in his. This was so right, every cell in her body screaming for him, but --

“Christ,” he all but moaned as her free arm wound around his neck, her teeth nipping his jaw. It was when his hands, calloused and cool, found their way to her skin she realised the enormity of their situation. But his kisses, his touch, drove her mad with want. 

Slowing her assault on his neck, she gave him one last kiss before stopping. In the safety of his arms, she murmured, “We can’t do this.”

“We can’t,” he agreed, sounding as despondent as she felt.

Brushing his ear with her fingertips, she smiled sadly when he moved his head for more. “We have to move past this.”

“How d’you want to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

He nodded, dropping his forehead to gently touch hers. “Leave it in the room?” She nodded, the pinpricks of tears back again. “We’ll always have cake,” he whispered, pushing her hand with his, bringing the box between them.

Her bark of watery laughter surprised them both. With that, Sam knew they’d work things out.


End file.
